


Goin' Down to Mordhaus

by seashadows



Category: Metalocalypse, South Park
Genre: Gen, LiveJournal Prompt, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:04:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A normal day in the lives of five tiny hellions. And their teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goin' Down to Mordhaus

  
The school bus was late, and Thunderbolt Murderface was at it again. The two events were unrelated, but Thunderbolt’s grandson definitely tied them together – much to the annoyance of his friends.   
  
“You know what my grandpa did lascht night?” Nine-year-old William Murderface folded his arms over his red-coat-clad chest and scowled at the four boys clustered around him. “I wash trying to watch Terrensche and Philip, and he gave me a Tascher and schaid if I didn’t kill him with it, I’d be a schtupid little ungrateful baschtard. _He’sch_ the baschtard!”   
  
“Dood,” his friend Pickles sighed, rolling his eyes, “if he’s at it again, jest kill ‘im already. He’ll stahp botherin’ you if he’s dead, right?” He tugged the earflaps of his loose green ushanka down over the red curls that threatened to spill out of the hat.   
  
“EY! Schut up, you ginger Catholic Wischconschin schon of a bitsch!”   
  
“Quit insulting my state, featso!” Pickles shot back. “I don’t wanna hear about yer freaky grandpa!”   
  
“I takes him to my moms, she kills him wit’ lots of sex,” Skwisgaar said. A collective groan ran through the group at his typical answer to the problem. “What? She totallies do it. I tells her he a GFILFs, den she fucks him to deat’.”   
  
“Mmff ee mmfvv mrfks kmff ee mgfs smrfks?” Toki piped up from behind his orange hood. No one knew how the thing wasn’t constantly soaked with spit, but whatever; Toki was enough of a dildo _with_ his hood on. No one was going to peel it away from his mouth and look at the lining.   
  
“It’s hish _firscht_ schtroke, ya _dildo!_ ” Murderface said, his voice exasperated. “Grandma schaysch he’ll schtop being able to talk if he hash another one.” He paused, snickering. “But he can’t usche the toilet anymore.”   
  
“Dude, _gross_ ,” Nathan said with a shudder. “He, like, shits himself?”   
  
“Mm mrf mnn frf sgrfmsch mmf immf mm mlfschhn tmf bgmf wrmff,” Toki protested.   
  
“Dood, yer parents ground you fer everything, don’t they?” Pickles said, raising an eyebrow.   
  
“Just don’t tell ‘em I said that,” Nathan suggested. “Or, uhhh…” He gnawed on his lip as he thought about it. “Or plug your ears until the bus comes. ‘Cause I’m probably gonna say ‘shit’ again.”   
  
“NNGMFFS!”   
  
“Busch ish here!” Murderface interrupted, jumping up and down – and jiggling as he did it – at the sight of the yellow bus rounding the corner. The words ‘South Park Elementary’ were printed on the side. “Hey, Toki?”   
  
“Mmf?”   
  
“Fuck, schit, schon of a bitsch, turdburger, and your parentsch are probably having schexsch right now.”   
  
Nathan had to carry Toki onto the bus over his shoulder.   
  


~

  
  
“All right, kids, settle down,” Mr. Ofdensen said, his chalk squeaking across the blackboard (and making everyone wince, not least the recently-awakened Toki). “I’ve just gotten word from the school board that, apparently, the history I’m teaching in here isn’t _relevant_ to the real world. So we’re going to learn some _modern_ history today. Isn’t that right, Mr. Tie?”   
  
He picked up the end of the red tie he always wore, poked two fingers through the flap on the end and, shutting his mouth, squeaked through his closed lips: “Sure will, Mr. Ofdensen! Gonna learn some _sweet_ modern history today. Starting with the history of gorgeous men like the Beatles.”   
  
Mr. Ofdensen dropped Mr. Tie and rolled his eyes. “Oh, Mr. Tie, you keep _those_ kinds of thoughts to yourself, you hear me? This is a _classroom_ , not happy hour at Rage.”   
  
As he did most mornings, Pickles leaned over and whispered to Nathan, “He’s ahff his nut, dood.”   
  
And as _he_ did every time Pickles made that particular wisecrack, Nathan nodded and whispered back, “He should go back to, uhhh, practicing law.”   
  
Pickles smirked. “Dood. If he was so good at it, why was he still _practicing?_ ”   
  
“Nathan? Pickles?” Mr. Ofdensen snapped. “Is there something you’d like to _share_ with the class?”   
  
_Oh, shit_ , Pickles mouthed in Nathan’s direction before turning to his teacher. “Sure,” he said. “Murderface’s grandpa wants ta die. Should he kill ‘im?”   
  
Mr. Ofdensen’s mouth dropped open, and one of his eyes twitched in that special way that meant he was about to either blow his top or get a boner. “Pickles,” he finally said, “we’ve been over this. I’m not touching that with a twenty-foot pole.”   
  
“Schcrew you guysch!” Murderface exclaimed. “Talking about my _grandpa_ like that. I’m going home!” He pushed himself out of his seat and started to run out of the room.   
  
“William, it’s a school day,” Mr. Ofdensen called after him.   
  
“Then I’ll take a pissch.” And with that, Murderface pulled down his pants and made good on his threat, right on Mr. Ofdensen’s desk.   
  
“William,” Mr. Ofdensen said after a moment’s pause, “are you…urinating on my desk?”   
  
“Yep,” Murderface replied, without even looking up.   
  
Needless to say, Mr. Ofdensen had a spaz, and class let out early that day so he could lock himself in the classroom closet and cry on Mr. Tie.   
  


~

  
  
“Hello, children!” Jean-Pierre called out.   
  
“Hey, Chef,” the boys chorused as they shuffled through the cafeteria line.   
  
Jean-Pierre grinned, an expression that – as always – looked absolutely grotesque on his mangled face, and dropped a slice of pizza on Toki’s tray. “How is everything?”   
  
“Bad,” they said.   
  
“Bad? Why is it bad, children?”   
  
“Murderface gots grandpa what want to be deads,” Skwisgaar said, holding out his tray for mashed potatoes.   
  
“He’sch being a big jerk about it!” Murderface added, his ever-present scowl firmly fixed between his eyebrows. “I wasch trying to watch Terrensche and Philip lascht night, and he tried to make me tasche him!”   
  
“Ohh!” Jean-Pierre nodded. “I see. How old is your grandfather, William?”   
  
“I don’t fucking know. At leascht ninety.” Murderface shrugged. “He schitsch himschelf a lot of the time.”   
  
“Then perhaps he must die,” the chef said. “I know how you may be able to do this.”   
  
Murderface brightened. “Yeah? How can I kill hisch fat fuckin’ assch?”   
  
“Mlffk mmfsch mkllgfs mm ffft,” Toki muttered.   
  
“EY!” Murderface spun around and glared at him. “ _I_ don’t go calling people fat hypocritesch, you dildo!”   
  
“Settle yourselves, children.” Jean-Pierre spread out his scarred hands on the top of the steam table. By now, they all figured he’d done it so many times that he didn’t even feel the heat anymore. “William, if you wish to kill your grandfather, you can clog his heart by feeding him many foods that are full of fat and calories.”   
  
“Hey, yeah!” Murderface said, his face lighting up. It was kind of a scary expression on an otherwise surly face. “I can put butter in all the schit he eatsh! Then he’ll have a heart attack and die.”   
  
“Won’t yer grandma get a little suspicious, dood?” Pickles interjected. “I mean, he’s probably not dyin’ of natural causes anytime soon.”   
  
“Sche putsch butter in everything anyway,” Murderface said with a shrug. “I guessch I’ll juscht get schome lard.”   
  
“From wheres, idiot? You’s _ass?_ ”   
  
“ _Schut up_ , Shkwischgaar!” Murderface screeched. “Or I’ll kick you shquare in the nutsch!”   
  
“Mmmph uhh rmff mfshh uhh!” Toki said.   
  
“Goddammit, Toki, don’t say that or he’ll _actually_ do it,” Pickles cut in. “It’s _never_ a good idea to dare Murderface to do anything, ‘cause he’s a dumbass.”   
  
“Ja,” Skwisgaar agreed, “and if Moidaface ams kick me ins my families jewel, he bes sorry afters.”   
  
“Why’sch that, asschhole?” Murderface asked.   
  
“’Cause.” Skwisgaar grinned. “I wearings athletics cup.”   
  
“Oh, god _dammit!_ ”   
  


~

  
  
A week later, Murderface was even surlier than usual in class. “Dood, what’s wrahng?” Pickles asked when Mr. Ofdensen’s back was turned. “Did yer grandpa die already?”   
  
“No,” Murderface grumped. “I schtarted putting lard in hisch food, and you know what happened?”   
  
“What happened?” Nathan whispered (although it was really more like a dull roar when he whispered, Mr. Ofdensen didn’t seem to notice).   
  
“It went schtraight to hish _dick_ , isch what happened! Now he’sch got a big dick, and he’sh _schtill_ not dead!”   
  
“William!” Mr. Ofdensen said, turning around so fast that the chalk he was holding broke on the floor. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”   
  
“Yeah!” said Murderface. “My grandpa ate too musch fat, and now he hasch a big dick!”  
  
“ _William!_ Did you just say the _d_ -word?” Mr. Ofdensen stuck his fingers through Mr. Tie and lifted him up to eye level. “Oh, come on now, Mr. Ofdensen, that’s not too bad.” He dropped the tie. “Mr. Tie, you keep your gay mouth shut in this classroom! Now, William, can you tell me what’s going on _without_ using potty language?”   
  
“ _Fine_ ,” Murderface said. “I gave my grandpa lard in hisch food to try to kill him, and it didn’t work! It gave him a big _crotsch_ instead!”   
  
Mr. Ofdensen stared, eliciting giggles from the rest of the class at large. “Did you say eating fatty foods gave your grandfather a big penis?”   
  
“Yeah, but what’sch that gotta do with –“   
  
“Class dismissed!” Mr. Ofdensen said, cutting Murderface off and making him sputter.   
  
The boys were very confused as they left the classroom. “Lookit _that_ ,” Pickles said, pointing at the swarm of men pouring down Main Street from various locations. “Where d’ya think they’re goin’?”   
  
They had their answer right then, as Mr. Ofdensen ran down the street, too. He was carrying an open tub of – “Oh, god,” Nathan said, staring in horror, “is that _lard?_ ”   
  
“He wantsch to make hisch ding-dong bigger!” Murderface exclaimed. “That’sch grossch!”   
  
“Hmmf mfsch mwnnfngs nn mbgnrr nnknk mfgrch?” Toki wanted to know.   
  
“It…it juscht _isch_ , okay? Don’t ashk schtupid queschtionsch, Toki!” Murderface cuffed Toki on the side of his head, making him shriek.   
  
“You know what we gahtta do?” Pickles said. “We gahtta go talk to yer grandpa and see if he’ll make his ding-dong smaller. Then you’ll stahp freakin’ out and freakin’ the rest of us out.”   
  
“But…I don’t _wanna_ talk to my grandpa! Or look at hisch dick!”   
  
“Ams you want _dat_ to keeps happens-ing?” Skwisgaar asked, pointing down the street. Men were now walking out of Tom’s Rhinoplasty, each with a bulge in the front of his pants. “Dat’s even mores dick dan you’s grandspa.”   
  
After Murderface finished puking, they decided as a group to go talk to Thunderbolt. He was the one who’d eaten all the lard in the first place; now he was probably the only one who could help them. That is, if he didn’t shit himself while they were talking to him.   
  


~

  
  
Thunderbolt stared at his dick. It stared back.   
  
“ _Nnngh_ ,” he grunted, straining forward with a knife in his teeth. If he could just cut off the damn thing, he’d die of blood loss – Stella was too fat to move around without her Rascal, and the thing was in the shop, which meant she couldn’t try to help him – and he could finally be happy. God, he hated his life.   
  
“Dood!” The door burst open. “Dere’s yer grandpa!” Pickles and the rest of Billy’s little friends scuttled around to the front of his wheelchair, eyes wide. “It’s huge!”   
  
“Did you come to kill me?” Thunderbolt asked around the knife handle.   
  
“No,” said Skwisgaar. “We ams come to find outs how we cans make de mens stop givings to demselves big dicks like you’s, ‘cause am weirds what dey doings.”   
  
“It’s not a big dick, you little punk,” Thunderbolt said with some difficulty. “It’s a blood clot. _Look!_ ” He dropped the knife, aiming towards his dick; instead of chopping it off, it dropped down between his legs and sliced through the wheelchair’s seat and his colostomy bag.   
  
“Mmf mrlg mbckss,” Toki said, staring.   
  
“Yeah! Yer right, Toki, it’s all black!” Pickles put a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t look at it real close before, but… _gross_.”   
  
“Gangrene,” Nathan said, nodding.   
  
“Good! Maybe I’ll finally die. My ingrate grandson won’t even kill his own grandpa.” Thunderbolt strained his head towards Murderface, as he wasn’t exactly able to kick him. “I killed _my_ grandpa.”   
  
The boys stared. “Dude,” Nathan said. “Metal.”   
  
“How abouts dis?” Skwisgaar offered. “We goes down to de nose job place and makes dem to stop making bigs dick. Den we comes back and kills you.”   
  
“That’s the spirit, slutty!” said Thunderbolt.   
  
“HEY! I don’ts calls you slutty, you old shits sack!” Skwisgaar said indignantly.   
  


~

  
  
The door to Tom’s Rhinoplasty burst open, revealing five local boys and one very pissed-off old man in a wheelchair. “ _Noooooooo!_ ” screamed the small one with the black hair. “You gotta stop giving guys big dicks!”   
  
“Um, we’re in the middle of a surgery here, kids,” one of the doctors said. “If you’re interested in having a penile augmentation yourself, you need to wait in – OH GOD OW!”   
  
The one in the hood had leaped forward and bit him in the leg, making him drop his scalpel. It hit the hooded kid in the head, and he dropped like a stone in a pool of blood.   
  
“Oh my god!” the black-haired kid screamed as the doctor slipped in the pool of blood, setting off a chain reaction of falling over. “They killed Toki!”   
  
“You _beastards!_ ” the kid in the green hat replied as medical implements went flying.   
  


~

  
  
After Toki came back to life, he was, of course, grounded for looking at dicks.


End file.
